


The Master's Journal

by SaxSpieler



Category: Runescape
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen, Magic and Science, Tales of Nomad, headcanons ahoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:44:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaxSpieler/pseuds/SaxSpieler
Summary: [Excerpts from the journal of Oreb, Magister of House Charron - all entries relating to his research on the nature of the human soul that are at least partially legible are presented here.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was so stoked when Oreb was revealed to be Nomad’s first master, oh my god. I didn’t think that headcanon would be confirmed, but it was, and I’m just giddy at that. So, have some more headcanons about Oreb - what brought him to Gielinor, what his work was about, and his relationship with Nomad!

I.

A breakthrough.

The other Magisters do not see it that way, however.

They called it a break-in.

Ha! If they only knew that my hypotheses have been all but confirmed by the event, they would not be blubbering and wallowing in their own shattered senses of control and superiority as they are.

The one who broke in was one by the name of Robert. A son of one of the librarians in the service of House Hermaion. Magister Plutarch is steaming from the ears at the thought of his oh so grand house’s name being soiled by such an act - it is truly a wondrous sight.

But, I digress.

Sensors show that Robert approached the Schism, yet my anima flux arrays registered absolutely nothing, a result corresponding to those collected from Trials XI through XX. The boy’s soul was quite strong, put simply.

Then, he vanished.

He walked straight into the Schism and vanished.

Motion, thermal, and auditory sensors ceased registering any anomalous presence inside the cathedral. Yet, the arrays still didn’t spark, as I would’ve expected upon a soul being shredded by the Schism.

He was not destroyed. Far from it.

He was transported.

I feel the need to follow. To rid myself of the prattling of the other Magisters and follow this soul.

I must know more.

I must discover.

 

IV.

This new world is strange.

It is warm here, unlike Teragard, and magic flows not from anything akin to the Schism, but from shimmering stones the locals call ‘runes.’

I have yet to find Robert. I have to continue my research.

I fear, with my advanced age, that I am running out of time.

I must not allow that to happen.

I must [illegible]

[The remainder of this entry consists of diagrams that seem to depict the method of removing an unknown substance from a figure labeled ‘DONOR’ and transplanting it to a figure labeled ‘RECIPIENT’]

 

X.

Finally, I have succeeded.

I have proven yet another hypothesis.

And, if I am right, my lifespan should be extended by a measurable amount.

Robert still evades me, yet I feel as if this new avenue of study is far more important.

 

XX.

I can hear them.

Smell them.

Taste them.

These are unforeseen adverse effects. With them comes something I can only describe as a craving. A thirst, almost. Other symptoms include xerostomia, bleaching of the skin and eyes, and alopecia. While the cravings are alleviated by repeated consumption, as I have experienced firsthand, the symptoms are not as well controlled and seem progressive and irreversible.

I must gather more test subjects.

 

XLIX.

[Illegible]

…world is filled with…

[Illegible]

…many souls…

So many strong souls.

[Illegible]

…weed them out from the weak…

I must…how to accomplish this.

 

LXXII.

Souls to observe. Collection and experimentation may not be possible with these subjects, due to their sheer strength and resolve. Observation will have to suffice.

-Camorra

-Arrav

[Most of the rest of this list, which goes on for about ten pages, is illegible]

-Robert

 

CCCIV.

WHERE IS ROBERT?

I can no longer sense his soul upon this world.

I have lost him.

I…[illegible]

 

[Many illegible entries and blank pages follow. However, the last several entries are well-preserved, thanks in part to them being written sometime during the latter third of the Fifth Age.]

 

DXLII.

I am old.

The power of souls, while immense, is still finite, and can only sustain me for so much longer.

It has been thousands of years, and time has taken its toll on my body.

Yet, I still have work to do.

Alternatively, a student could carry on my work in my stead.

Who can I trust with my knowledge, however?

 

DCCLVI.

I never thought the answer to my questions regarding a potential student would be a street urchin who tried to killed me.

I was wandering in Varrock, quietly observing its citizens. This city was once the site of great feats of heroism - I had hoped it would spawn more interesting subjects, yet I was sorely disappointed. These people have become complacent and lax without danger or need, and the quality of souls has dropped, along with the potential those souls possess.

The only souls of interest were those of the backstreets.

The thieves.

The swindlers.

The gang members.

These souls, while tarnished by greed, cruelty, and violence, were hardy. Resilient. Determined.

So, I investigated.

My search took me to a small sector of the city just east of the local tavern. I had been warned by a passerby that said sector was, by far, the most dangerous, ruled over by an individual said to have been driven mad by the consumption of rats and who would attack anyone who entered his ‘home.’ When I asked the passerby for more information, she simply shook her head and moved on.

My sense of curiosity pushed me forward, and I found myself standing by a dead tree, a makeshift shelter wedged between its trunk and the nearby building.

Then, there was steel at my throat.

“Whoever you are,” a voice hissed in my ear, its owner digging a dagger into my neck, “you just made your last mistake.”

It was a simple matter to get the mugger off of me. A quick blast of magic from my staff, and the poor sod was sprawled in the mud.

He was a gangly affair, more bone than anything, with unkempt hair and sunken eyes. Young, too - he looked to be hardly older than twenty years.

The most striking thing about the man was, as I had expected from the likes of him, his soul.

The sound of a brewing storm. The creak of clenched knuckles. The stench of death. Everything held together by a palpable desire to survive. Yet, beneath all of that ran something akin to what I had sensed within the souls of Arrav and Camorra. The will and determination to change the world - for good or ill. It was hidden well, buried beneath grief and desperation, but still there, lying in wait.

At first, I thought him a potential test subject and raised my staff, preparing a spell to knock him unconscious.

Yet, something gave me pause.

Perhaps, I thought, using him as a test subject alone would be a waste of a golden opportunity.

Yes, a student and a test subject, all rolled into one.

A chance to see from afar how my knowledge and experiments affected my own soul. An unbiased observation of the benefits and adverse effects of soul consumption. And, a possible answer to the question of just how powerful an already strong soul can become.

I lowered my staff.

“What is your name?” I asked. The man shook his head and scuttled backwards out of the mud, away from me.

“Don’t have one,” he growled, drawing another dagger and taking a stance. “Not anymore.”

“Ah, I see.” Names held a certain power on Teragard, and I sensed they held a similar power on Gielinor. Without a name, especially a house name, you were doomed to solitude and restlessness.

A stray.

An outcast.

A nomad.

“You are hungry, yes?” I asked. He didn’t answer, but I know the look of a man who hasn’t properly eaten in a week. “Come with me, and I promise you will never feel hunger again.”

I extended a hand.

“Why should I believe you? Why should I trust you?!?” His words carried a threat, but I saw the dagger lower slightly.

“Because,” I said simply, stepping closer. “I know potential when I see it. You strive to be strong, to overcome your own weaknesses. Overcome…death itself? How serendipitous. As it so happens, I can help you on that front.”

His soul was remarkably easy to read. I told him everything he wanted to hear, yet I was hardly lying. My own consumption of souls had extended my life by a massive degree - I was certain it could do the same for this young, nameless nomad.

Eventually, he dropped the dagger and followed me out of the slums.

Success.

 

DCCXC.

I have taken to calling my new student/test subject by the name “Nomad.” He seems to have taken rather well to being addressed as such.

He is a good student, listening intently to my every word and taking each lesson to heart, and I believe I have made the right choice in picking my student and successor.

His soul is also a source of much information and intrigue. After I took him under my wing, the desperation fouling his soul waned, allowing his determination to take center stage. It is fascinating, watching him grow like this.

I will present him with his first test subject soon. I will start with a weak soul as practice for what is to come.

 

DCCXCIV.

The first transfer worked brilliantly, and I was able to accurately map what happened to Nomad’s soul upon completion of the transfer.

As this process had only happened to me before, my objective vision was clouded by the energy and emotion that was released from anima fusion. Witnessing the process with a clear head, however, made all the difference.

From personal experience and today’s observations, it is my conclusion that souls exert forces on one another when in close proximity. Normally, no damage is done to either party upon this interaction, as both souls are firmly anchored to their respective hosts. However, upon application of the proper magics, which I have painstakingly derived from the art of blood magic since arriving on Gielinor, a soul can be loosened from its host, allowing the magnetic forces that any nearby soul radiates to pull it in. This does not guarantee fusion, however, as a similar, yet slightly altered, invocation must be performed on the freed soul to, in layman’s terms, shred it into bite-sized pieces before any nearby soul can devour it. Once more, the strength of the ‘devouring’ soul determines ease of fusion. A stronger soul exerts more attractive force than a weaker one, after all.

Upon relaying this to Nomad, he asked an interesting question; “Is it possible to build a machine that automatically severs and shreds souls for you?”

I have no answer to his inquiry, unfortunately. I am a thaumaturgical scholar and scientist, not an engineer.

 

DCCXCVIII.

Nomad is a blessedly fast learner. He has begun working with his own test subjects now, extracting and fusing souls to his own at a highly productive rate.

Observing how his soul grows and changes with each transfer is at once fascinating and frightening. With each addition, its volume remains constant, yet its density increases slightly. Extrapolating from its current state, I hypothesize that there might exist a ‘critical soul mass’ where the natural attractive force a soul exerts is overwhelmed by the sheer amount of anima it attempts to contain.

The results of surpassing this critical mass could very well be explosive.

I warned him of this, yet he seemed to brush it off. Oddly, I am not bothered by his recklessness. Observing a soul reaching a critical state such as that would be a fantastic research opportunity.

 

DCCCII.

Another breakthrough.

For me, at least. Nomad thinks differently - he is in incredible pain at the moment and is too weak to move.

He had attempted to fuse another soul to his today. It was an unusually strong soul, almost equal in power to his own when I found him in Varrock. Interestingly, when fusion occurred, he reported feeling as if he was being torn apart instead of being strengthened like usual.

‘Reported’ meaning ‘screamed,’ in this case.

I quickly recorded my observations. Fusion happened normally. Each spell cast was immaculate, as usual. Theoretically, everything should have gone as before. Yet, in the exact moment of convergence, Nomad’s soul nearly shattered, its strength decreasing by nearly tenfold in a span of approximately 1.53 seconds.

Upon further investigation, a new hypothesis has formed in my mind. Each soul, I believe, carries not only an attractive force, but a specific resonance as well. Such could be the source of the idea of ‘soulmates.’ When two souls interact, I believe these resonances interact as well, either interfering constructively or destructively in a similar manner to sound waves.

The soul Nomad devoured today was one of a person who, I believe, was his opposite in terms of personality and experiences.

I must also note that this has never happened to me in all my centuries of devouring souls. I believe this has to do with me choosing my subjects very carefully, whether consciously or subconsciously. My student, on the other hand, was greedy and careless, and I told him as much.

 

DCCCX.

In an attempt to heal, Nomad has increased soul consumption threefold. A dangerous feat to be certain, if the accelerated skin bleaching and alopecia symptoms he’s experiencing are anything to go by. That, and the strength of his soul seems to be returning quite slowly, if at all. Perhaps, in this case, it is not necessarily the quantity of souls he needs, but the quality.

Upon this thought, I referred to some of my older studies and attempted to reconcile those findings with my most recent ones regarding soul resonances and interference. And, I believe I have come up with a theory.

_Anima sanitatis._

A healing soul.

A soul that, if fused with one’s own, will cause the maximum amount of constructive interference, healing any damage done and/or increasing power to amounts beyond my current calculations.

Of course, an _anima sanitatis_ to one soul might be an agent of destruction to another. Experiences, emotions, wills, and goals would have to be aligned almost perfectly - as perfectly as unique individuals can be aligned, anyway - for the effects of _anima sanitatis_ fusion to even occur.

I laughed as I thought it all over.

It is ironic that, to fully heal one’s soul this way, one must find what is, essentially, their soulmate, kill them, extract their soul, and devour it. I remember some of the scientists working for House Asklepion mentioning something similar happening in certain species of insects - if Magister Aceso was here, I would have apologized to her for scoffing at her earlier theories about humans being more closely connected to the animal kingdom than previously thought.

But I digress again.

After formulating this theory, I presented it to Nomad. He all but ignored me, caught in what appeared to me as a feeding frenzy.

I worry that my student has become addicted to souls as a result of his earlier blunder. I will wait until he is satiated before trying to convince him of my theory.

 

DCCCXV.

Nomad’s condition has not improved much. Thankfully, I was able to relate to him the importance of soul quality over quantity, but he still seems to prefer the idea of mass consumption over taking the time to find his _anima sanitatis._ I understand his concerns, however - he might very well die before finding such a soul, if one even exists.

This thought led me to another possible experiment. The purposeful creation of _animae sanitatis._ The manipulation of an individual’s life from a young age to ensure near-perfect soul compatibility. A time-consuming and difficult undertaking, for sure, but I shall keep the idea in mind for curiosity’s sake.

 

DCCCXVIII.

I am concerned.

I found plans that Nomad had drawn up for an automated soul extraction and deconstruction process. A brilliant design, if I do say so myself, yet one geared, again, towards the mass gathering and consumption of souls. His approach is akin to killing a single rat by burning down an entire building, and I doubt it will work in his favor.

When I confronted him about it, he seemed oddly avoidant of my questions. Nonetheless, I will continue to harry him. I must make him see the error of the path he is walking down.

 

DCCCXXV.

My concern remains.

This is clearly an addiction.

He needs to stop and change his methods if he wants to heal.

A greater quantity of souls might grant him boundless power, yes, but will slowly tear him apart.

I continually try to convey this to him, but he doesn’t seem to be listening anymore.

I fear I have lost my student.

 

DCCCXXXIV.

This experiment has gone too far.

And, I have made a grave mistake.

I misjudged Nomad. His intentions. His desires.

Where I am concerned with academic discovery, he is only concerned with power, and pays no heed to my lectures anymore.

His respect for me and my knowledge is waning, and with it, I fear, my usefulness to him.

Cunning brat. He used me.

It seems I was mistaken as to which one of us was the test subject.

I must end this. Now.

 

[The remainder of the journal’s pages are empty.]


End file.
